


Do You Have a Map?

by bonneaux



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonneaux/pseuds/bonneaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy's thoughts as he visits May for the first time at her house. And what happens the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He knows he is always a bastard at first. He can’t seem to stop himself, when he first meets a woman that intrigues him, from saying something rude. Are you a whore? Is a pretty typical opening line for him. He considers it a fair strategy - he is a bastard and he is letting the woman know right away who he is. If she chooses not to see, well. 

And now this fucking house. He knew, he knew she was posh from her accent and her clothes and the way the air around her seemed different. But he didn’t know it would be this. He has never seen a house like this up close, nevermind walked up to the front door expecting to sleep with the mistress of the place. A part of him is still that dirty little boy, barefoot and running around with dogs, and when he enters the house that child marvels at where he is, the riches some people have. But the man, the man, squashes this, tries his hardest not to reveal his slack-jawed amazement. Tries to not feel like an urchin at the feet of a queen. 

And so, he tests her. He talks around what he wants. Does she want to sleep with him? Why? Is she a rich girl who wants to go slumming with a gangster so she can laugh about it with her friends? Is she going to get him to reveal his desire so she can scoff at him and send him out the door? He needs to know and so he asks without asking. Talks of engine oil and guest wings. 

But then, she breaks. He isn’t expecting it and for a moment, doesn’t know what to do next - an unusual and uncomfortable feeling. He can’t quite take her in his arms when she begins to crumble so he settles for his strategy with a skiddish horse - a soft voice, a simple, gentle touch. He waits. 

As he sits away from her on the couch, the shift occurs. He clears his throat, changes his tone, lets the corner of his mouth turn up. “Do you have a map?” he asks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, he found her room. And we saw what happened. But what about the morning after? General smut ensues.

He stirs to find his left arm pinned under May. His eyes remain closed and the smile crosses his lips slowly, remembering the night before. No wonder she is still sleeping. He shifts slightly, opens his eyes so he can see her. She is turned away from him, sleeping on her side, her back slightly curled. She is naked. Her hair lays across the pillow, her face relaxed. 

He watches her breathe a few times and wonders if he is the first since her husband. Judging from the fervor at which they began (and ended, and also the middle) last night, his guess is yes. He wonders if she truly loved her dead husband or if at this part in society, all marriages are business deals. His guess is love, judging from the look in her eyes when she mentions the dead man, and the way she mentioned his own medals. Maybe she thinks I am a hero just for coming home, he thinks. He hopes she knows better, knows that gallantry has nothing to do with it. It was pure luck, a toss of the coin, that it is him in this bed and not six feet under ground. 

He thinks about waking up next to Grace for a moment, the smile on his lips, his mind blissfully quiet. His mind is quiet now too, but in a different way. He can never trust again like he did, never believe one woman will help him. And yet, May. May is not Lizzie - a familiar, comforting, easy solution to the problem of needing a woman. May is not Grace - a dream, a fairy tale. May strikes a chord in him because she too knows there is not a happy ending. There is a fire in May he wants to be near, and the secrets of the other side that she knows. 

He shifts again, sitting up slightly, looking around for his cigarettes. Fuck, this room, this house. He still can't stop himself from slack-jawed amazement at the wealth. He extends his free arm to the night stand, snatches the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, and manages to get one in his mouth and lit without freeing his other arm. The sheet slides down his body to his waist. He inhales deeply, thinking about all the shitty places he has woken up. This is not one of them. 

The smoke, his movement wakes her. She slowly turns toward him, hitching the sheet up as she rolls. He frees his arm, scratches the back of his head. Waits for her to speak first. May props herself up on an elbow, lets her eyes start at his, then travel down his body slowly. A smile comes to her lips as she leans over to take the cigarette from his hand. She takes a drag and hands it back to him. 

He breaks first. "Good morning," he says as he leans to stab out the cigarette in the glass cut ashtray on the bedside table. He isn't sure what is next. Should he try to sneak back to his wing? Will some sort of maid bust in any moment to dress the lady? 

"Mmm hmmm," she responds as her hand lightly touches him on the chest. She follows her fingers with her mouth. 

"Should I be leaving?" he asks, slowly, watching her mouth and hands move across his chest, down his belly. "What about the maids?"

"I think the maids heard enough last night to hold them over this morning, don't you?" May mutters, her lips moving against his skin. 

He feels himself respond to May's touch, getting hard as her mouth and hands are level with his belly button. He knows himself in the morning, though, and isn't ready for this to be over so quickly. He will be on the road to Birmingham and his dark, lonely rooms soon enough. 

"Let's try it slow this time, eh?" he answers, flipping her over to her back, pinning her down with his weight. He mimics her actions, with his hands starting a light trail between her breasts, then following right behind with his mouth. One thing he learned about May last night, she is not shy about her pleasure. 

She moans, arches. "Thomas," she whispers. "Please."

"Not yet," he says, keeping his touch light, his mouth near her belly. He moves his hands down and under her as he shifts down the bed. He kisses the top of each thigh, his hands holding her steady. He glances up to look at her, her eyes are shut in concentration and one hand clutches a pillow above her head. He moves slowly, slowly inward, finally ending with an exhale, then tastes her. It makes her jump, the sensation, and he wonders briefly if this was something her husband ever did. He uses his fingers and his tongue, slowly, slowly until she begins to writhe under his touch, moving her hips into his hands. When she bucks hard into his hand again and then stills, he lifts his head, keeping his fingers inside of her and moves back up to be even with her face. 

"Jesus, Tommy," she whispers as she wraps her legs around him. He enters her slowly and stills, his eyes closed. He isn't ready to let loose yet, wants to keep his pleasure in a tight ball, he wants to hoard it awhile longer. He starts to rock inside her, her hands on his shoulders, moving to the back of his head. He tries to push up, put some space between their bodies, but she pulls him to her, rocks her hips up to meet him with each stroke. Her mouth is on his neck now, hot breath and wet. "Tommy," she whispers one more time and it undoes him. He unravels, the ball of pleasure spooling out as he fucks her harder than he wants to. 

They lie, him still on top of her, her legs hooked at the ankles around his waist. 

"I just remembered," she whispers in his ear once their breathing has calmed. "I don't have any engine oil."


End file.
